The Cabin
by KarenES
Summary: Multi-part story that picks up where 1x11 "You Win Again" left off. First chapter is an intro; subsequent chapters will flashback to Deacon & Rayna's past, picking up on some of the clues we've gotten so far about their relationship. My first Nashville fic so trying to get tone and characters right - let me know how I do!
1. Chapter 1

"All right! So hey, we goin' to Kansas City?"

Bucky Dawes was doing his best to defuse the tension already filling the cabin, 30 seconds after Juliette Barnes had stomped on board, complaining. Obviously, this plane wasn't big enough for two divas. He could see this was going to be yet another unhappy flight.

_Great._

Rayna Jaymes sighed and pulled out her phone, trying to ignore Juliette.

"Not quite yet. We're waitin' for one more," Juliette announced, suddenly perky.

Rayna didn't hear her. But she couldn't mistake his voice, suddenly just outside the cabin.

"Yeah, thanks."

Deacon Claybourne climbed the stairs and bustled in, travel bag in hand.

"Hey."

That rather muted greeting was directed at her, Rayna realized, as she looked up in astonishment.

"Sorry for the hold up," Deacon said, as he stowed his bag and took a seat in the rear, facing Juliette.

_What the hell …_

Rayna looked at Bucky, outraged.

"Did you hire him to replace Liam and not talk to me about it!?"

"No. Of course not."

"I'm not here for your band." Deacon was calmly staring her down.

Juliette turned around and smirked, the fat cat who just ate the choicest canary in the flock.

"He's joinin' mine."

Rayna's heart raced, furious. She glared at Deacon, who donned his mirrored shades and turned his gaze out the window.

_Unbelievable. _

The little snot had been scheming to get Deacon over to her crew from Day One, and now, somehow, she'd done it.

_Goddamnit - imagine what Teddy… Shit! Teddy._

Rayna craned in her seat, looking out the window. _Had he seen Deacon?_ The plane was taxiing now, but Rayna could see the girls clinging to the windows of the terminal, while Teddy glared across the tarmac in her direction.

_Wonderful._ Rayna could already hear the grilling she was going to get on the phone later. Of course Teddy would never believe that she hadn't invited Deacon on the tour. She sighed. She couldn't catch a break with him lately and this would only make things worse.

As the plane accelerated down the runway, she pushed the thought of Teddy out of her mind. It was a trick she'd perfected lately, she realized guiltily. Her stomach lurched as the aircraft rocketed skyward. This private jet thing was certainly convenient, but there was something about it that didn't feel right.

Silly as it sounded, Rayna realized, she missed the long hours and days on the road, with she and Deacon and the rest of the crew crammed together on a bus with her face emblazoned on the side and a list of towns and dates down the back.

Of course, that wasn't all she'd missed. She looked over at Deacon. These past few weeks had been the first time she'd ever been on the road without him, and it hadn't been the same.

Even in the bad old days, she'd insisted on putting tours on hold when he was cycling in and out of rehab. They'd been together so long, she simply hadn't had the confidence to perform without him. And since he'd been sober, he'd never missed a tour.

She continued watching him, smiling to herself at how he was already nodding off, his forehead squashed against the window. Probably had a late night, she mused, though she'd noticed he hadn't shown up at the party after all.

She had to admit it: As angry as she was about him joining Juliette's band, she was glad to see him. Maybe now this would start to feel like a real tour.

"You're staring."

Bucky's voice was soft but it startled Rayna, who looked away quickly and met Bucky's gaze. He looked at her knowingly and nodded his head in Deacon's direction.

She sighed and shook her head, her eyes glistening a little.

"I can't figure out what happened. I just saw him and he was talkin' about sellin' his house, takin' a break from the business, goin' up to the cabin for a while."

Rayna spoke softly, making sure no one could hear over the engine noise.

"He didn't say anything about joinin' Juliette's band. I understand her doin' this to spite me, but I can't understand why he wants to hurt me."

Bucky looked at her levelly and took a deep breath.

"Rayna, maybe it's not about you. Did you ever think of that? Maybe Deac needs to get back out on the road and prove himself again. 'Specially after what happened with the Revel Kings and … all that nonsense."

Rayna pondered, taken aback at his chastisement. But maybe he was right: She knew she tended to see everything Deacon did in relationship to her. He'd been such a part of her life, for so long, it was hard not to.

"Yeah, y'know, Bucky, you're right. I … I'm sorry. Deacon's his own man and I … I gotta remember that, don't I? It's just, well … you know this makes everything a lot more difficult for me, back … at home."

"I know, Rayna. But it's gonna be okay, y'know? Things'll work out, just like they always do."

Rayna smiled, her eyes now filling with tears.

"Yes they will, and thank you. I don't say that enough. I hope you know I never would've gotten through any of this without you. And … well, I'm just grateful, is all."

She leaned over impulsively and kissed him on the cheek.

He squeezed her shoulder and smiled, then turned to pull his laptop out of his bag.

"Well, this tour ain't gonna finish bookin' itself, that's for damned sure. I better get some work done while I can," he said.

"Yeah," Rayna agreed, getting her phone out. She could use the time herself, to go over some lyrics she'd been working on with Liam before she'd sent him packing.

She suddenly heard Bucky chuckling softly. She turned to him and smiled.

"What're you laughin' at?"

"Oh nothin', it's just … I was thinkin' about Deacon and that cabin and I got to rememberin' – wasn't that the little place up in the hills the two of you used to scoot off to every chance you got?"

"Oh. Yeah … yeah I guess so," Rayna said, flustered. "That was where we did our writin'."

Bucky laughed outright.

"What?" Rayna said, astonished.

"Well … from what I remember, y'all always said you were goin' up there to write, but you never came back with much to show for it. Me and the guys always figured you found better things to do."

"Bucky Dawes! You're enough to make a girl blush!"

"Oh yeah, right. Like I could ever make Rayna Jaymes blush."

Bucky grinned, shaking his head, and Rayna laughed along with him.

"Hey, don't you have work to do?" she asked pointedly.

"Yeah, all right, okay," he grumbled, turning back to his laptop.

Rayna tried to focus on her work, too. But his unexpected remark had unleashed a host of memories, the kind that had been bubbling up in her mind lately – even in her dreams. Maybe it was her career getting off track, or the mess Teddy had made of things recently, or the way she saw Juliette looking at Deacon.

Or maybe it was turning 40, not so long ago.

Rayna sighed, and glanced out of the corner of her eye again at Deacon, who was awake now and chatting with Juliette.

A small sliver of pain stabbed her in the gut at that sight and she looked out the window, another image floating into her mind: The cabin. She smiled again to herself: Hard to call it a cabin, really. It was more a hunting shack, a ramshackle place deep in the woods that had been in the Claybourne family for generations. In the beginning, when neither of them had any money, it didn't even have indoor plumbing.

But the place was special – to both of them - for many reasons.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey there, I made it – finally!"

Deacon looked out the window of his '67 Ford pickup and across the wide, tree-lined street where he had been sitting, trying to blend in and failing miserably, for the last 40 minutes. He pushed open the truck's creaky door and jumped out, tucking the tail of his blue plaid shirt into his worn blue jeans, a huge smile on his face.

"Well, hey there y'self. I was startin' to wonder if you were gonna show up before one of your neighbors called the cops. I was just about gettin' ready to find a pay phone."

"Sorry, I was waitin' for Daddy and Tandy to leave for the airport. And then I had to pack …"

Rayna was clack-clack-clacking toward him in a pair of chunky, wedge-heeled platform shoes, black leggings and a silky, oversized, leopard-print blouse. She was all big hair and freckles and designer shades, with a Louis Vuitton shoulder bag, also in leopard, clutched in one hand and a matching overnight case in the other.

Deacon met her halfway and took the luggage. He gave her a quick kiss, then stepped back and looked her up and down, his piercing blue eyes devouring her so ravenously she felt her cheeks flush.

"Darlin', you're a sight for sore eyes, I'll tell you that," he said. "You understand we ain't exactly goin' to the Ritz though, right?"

"Yeah … You mean … am I overdressed?"

He took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Ray, you look just fine to me. C'mon, let's go."

He walked to the bed of the pickup, ready to toss her suitcases in, then stopped short, eyes traveling from the rusty truck bed to her fancy luggage.

"Hmmm…"

"Whatsa matter?"

Rayna was beside him now, peering at the pickup bed's contents: A worn Army surplus duffle bag, fishing poles and tackle, some kind of crusty lantern, a Styrofoam ice chest, four Piggly Wiggly bags crammed full of groceries and something that looked vaguely like ancient camping gear. She peeked into the cooler: At least a dozen longnecks on ice.

Deacon turned back to the cab and peered in at the guitar case, the banjo case, the mandolin case and the stack of folders stuffed with sheet music. Rayna gazed in beside him.

"I dunno. Is it all gonna fit?"

"Sure. We'll just …"

He clambered in and shuffled suitcases and instruments for a few minutes, grunting a little and cussing softly a few times. Finally, he climbed back out and held the door open.

"All righty, m'am, I think we are good to go," he said, flashing her a grin.

Rayna's heart skipped a beat; his dimples always had that effect on her. He helped her into the truck, which she thought at some point might have been royal blue, and settled in right next to her.

"Kinda cozy, huh?" he said, gazing at the crowded cab. "Hope that's okay."

"Well, it's okay with me," she said, smiling up at him as he adjusted the mirror, slipped on his sunglasses and turned the key. The old truck's engine sputtered and then roared to life as Deacon revved the accelerator hard. Rayna craned her neck out the back window: A cloud of blue exhaust billowed out behind them.

An uncommon sight in Belle Meade, she thought, wondering vaguely if anyone actually had telephoned the private security patrol, something not uncommon in a neighborhood paranoid about "intruders." She was relieved when Deacon let up on the gas and put the truck into gear, easing out onto the residential street.

"How long's the drive?"

"Oh, we'll be up there inside a'two hours, I'd say. Just in time to fix somethin' to eat and get busy."

He paused.

"Get _workin'_, I mean," he added, with an awkward chuckle.

"_Workin_'… yep, we got a whole lot of that to get done," she quickly agreed. "We're gonna bring back a whole bunch of new material for the audition, right?"

"Yes we are," Deacon agreed, glancing over at her and smiling again.

Those dimples; her stomach fluttered again.

He pulled onto I-65 and they headed south, their conversation lapsing into a slightly tense silence as each of them pondered the great unknowns of this weekend. He flipped on the radio and fiddled with the buttons, finally settling on WSM, 650 AM, the venerable country station that dominated the Nashville airwaves.

"How's that?"

"Just fine, Deacon, thanks."

Rayna settled back, trying to relax, but it was difficult. A week of frantic, secret planning had gone into their rendezvous two blocks away from her house. It was ridiculous that she had to sneak around: After all, she was nearly 20, and plenty old enough to make her own decisions. But they were on the verge of a breakthrough with the music, and she didn't dare risk her Daddy's disapproval just now.

And Lamar Wyatt definitely would not approve of her spending the weekend with Deacon Claybourne.

"A day late and a dollar short," was his terse dismissal of Deacon, after a disastrous introduction last spring at the Belle Meade Country Club. "And there's nothing worse than a man who can't hold his liquor."

Rayna should stick to "more deserving boys," he told her, by which he meant the thick-headed, red-necked college football players and the entitled, insufferable sons of CEO's who populated the club's social scene.

"I dated a few of those boys, Daddy. I didn't like any of 'em. At least Deacon's gentleman enough to keep his hands to himself."

For once, her father was shocked into silence; he didn't mention Deacon again. But Rayna cared – more than she'd admit – what he thought. She'd been his favorite girl, once upon a time. It was only as she got older, and started to see how her father wielded power in Nashville for his own gain, that their relationship had been unraveling.

The incident at the country club a few months ago had only made things worse. So she'd hesitated only momentarily when Deacon had proposed this trip a week ago.

They were at their park down by the river, wrapping up an impromptu rehearsal session and talking about how they could squeeze in some more writing time before the audition.

"I got an idea," Deacon said slowly. "I know a cabin not far from here. I go up there an' do some fishin' once in a while, clear my head. It's a great place to write – no distractions, y'know?"

"Sounds great. I bet Daddy'd love me takin' a trip up there."

"Didn't you say he was goin' outta town next weekend?"

Rayna stopped and looked at him. He was right: Lamar was traveling to his annual Atlanta golf weekend and Tandy was going with him. Rayna had been expected to join them but she'd begged off, pleading college midterms. If she could get a girlfriend to cover for her, she could easily disappear for a couple of days.

"That might work."

"Well, it's a small place, nothin' fancy. There's … really only one room, but I got a nice hammock out on the back porch and I'd be fine sleepin' in that with a couple blankets. I don't wantcha to think I'm … takin' ya up there t' … do something y'ain't ready for."

The import of what he was saying hit her: It hadn't occurred to her to think about the sleeping arrangements. She wasn't sure how to respond. This was not a topic she had expected to deal with just then. But he was looking at her expectantly.

"Well, I guess we'll have to see about all that. But … I 'preciate you mentionin' it."

Rayna leaned over and kissed him softly.

"I would never think that you were tryin' to … pressure me, or … anything, I hope you know that."

She turned to pick up her music, but he reached for her, cupping his palm at the nape of her neck and pulling her toward him slowly for another kiss, this one longer and deeper. When he released her, she opened her eyes, slightly dizzy, and looked at him curiously.

"What's that all about?"

"Well, I don't want to be pressurin' ya, but I don't want ya to think I ain't interested, either."

They'd met six months earlier, when he filled in at a rehearsal session with her band and never left. They had sparked immediately, creatively at first and then personally. In Rayna, Deacon recognized not only vocal talent but a powerful stage presence that was rare in someone so young. In Deacon, Rayna found her musical guiding light, someone who believed in her not just for her market potential but for the unique voice she could bring to an aging industry that badly needed new blood.

She had been experimenting with composition but had not had the courage to share any of it with her band. When Deacon mentioned some songs he'd been writing, she confided that she had some tunes of her own. They found collaboration easy, and quickly fell into a strong partnership, challenging each other and developing a new sound that borrowed from the emerging rock genres of the '90s, as well as from more traditional strains like Cajun and zydeco.

It was a bold approach and one that had drawn derision around town, particularly from some establishment music press who dismissed them as "not country enough for country music." But it was starting to catch on with a small but growing fan base that showed up when they played The Bluebird Café and other local venues.

That grassroots enthusiasm had recently interested a young label, Edgehill Records, looking to carve out a niche. A month ago, the executives had called them in for a meeting. They liked the demo tape Deacon and Rayna had submitted, but they wanted to hear more: Not just covers, but some of the newer material they'd been playing around town. Could they come back in a few weeks for a formal audition with some new songs?

The two of them had been over the moon with excitement, and nearly frantic with terror, ever since. They believed deeply in their music and had two or three original songs they could polish in a couple of weeks, but this called for twice that many. Finding time to write was tough: Deacon worked odd hours as a studio musician and performed as a backup vocalist and guitarist to make rent at the apartment he shared with four guys. Rayna was rehearsing constantly and taking a full college load - at Lamar's insistence.

They couldn't work in his apartment, where there was never a moment's quiet, and bringing him to her house was out of the question. They had been involved romantically almost from the beginning, but it was no wonder they were not yet lovers. They spent most of their time in coffee shops, bars and the great outdoors: Not exactly places conducive to intimacy.

But now here they were, Rayna thought, looking out the window and realizing how far they had climbed into hilly country. They were driving up a two-lane highway so thickly forested it looked like twilight at 3 p.m.

She should be thinking about lyrics and chord progressions, Rayna knew, but instead she found her mind replaying the conversation that had started them on this journey. In fact, she'd had a hard time concentrating on anything else all week: What would happen between the two of them, holed up in a woodsy, one-room cabin all weekend? One room – did that mean one bed?

For some reason, the image of that hammock was seared in her mind: Would he end up in it? Would she? The both of them?

Rayna felt a massive shiver race down her spine.

Deacon laid a hand on her knee and she jumped slightly.

"You okay, Ray? Y'cold? I can close the window."

"No. I mean … I'm not cold. I'm fine. Guess a goose musta walked over my grave, is all."

"That's what my granddaddy used t'say. He's the one that built this place. Him or maybe his daddy, I guess. Anyway, we're just about there."

He turned right off the highway and into a narrow lane, where pavement soon gave way to gravel and then dirt. He drove carefully, avoiding ruts and potholes, apologizing for the bumps.

After about 15 minutes, the truck climbed a steep grade and leveled out on a grassy clearing. Deacon stopped the truck at a small, wooden structure and cut the engine.

Rayna stared. To her eyes, it looked exactly like the set of a Ma and Pa Kettle movie. She looked over at him, wondering for a moment if he was pulling her leg, but he was pushing open his door and already stepping out of the cab.

All this place needed was a trailer out back, a couple of roosters and an outhouse, Rayna thought.

"Outhouse is about 30 yards over that direction," Deacon said cheerfully, pointing toward a dirt path and helping Rayna out of the truck. There was a look of dismay on her face.

"Seriously… an outhouse. Seriously?"

He grinned. "You're out in the country now, girl. Indoor john's a luxury, doncha' know that?"

She gave him another look but didn't say another word.

"Listen, why don't you stretch your legs a little bit, look around, an' give me a chance to unload the stuff an' maybe tidy up the place a little. I haven't been up here in a while – y'never know what's got inside when y'ain't around."

Rayna watched him unloading the gear for a few minutes, wondering what on earth she'd gotten herself into. Many of her friends had vacation homes in the mountains, but they certainly didn't look like this.

She paid a visit to the outhouse, which wasn't as bad as she feared once she brushed about a million spiderwebs away with a large tree branch, and then started looking around. It was beautiful, lonesome country, she had to admit: Acres and acres of forest, blue sky and a view as far as the eye could see, with hawks and vultures circling overhead and a heavenly pine scent filling the air. A stream wound its way across a corner of the property, culminating in a small pond at the base of the hill. It was outfitted with a dock that had a metal rowboat tied to it.

She went around back to the long, low-slung porch to admire the view. That was where Deacon found her 10 minutes later.

She was standing stock still, staring at the hammock.


	3. Chapter 3

"Rayna. Ray … you okay?"

She was standing on the back porch, mesmerized, lost in another world.

Deacon stood watching her for a moment, his brow creased. In the six months he'd known her, he had never seen her so distracted and jumpy. He could not figure out what was wrong with her today.

He walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest. She startled at first, but then leaned her head back onto his shoulder, crossed her arms and interlaced her fingers with his own.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear. "I know this ain't what you're used to, Ray. I guess I didn't realize how … bad this place looks from the outside. We can turn around right now and go home if ya' want to."

"No, it's not that, it's okay. It's jus' … I dunno, it's been a long week, that's all."

"Jus' come inside for a minute an' take a look. I swear it's not so bad."

In response, she turned silently and buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him.

Deacon held her, mystified. Was she nervous about being alone with him? She'd seemed so nonchalant when he'd brought up the subject of sex – albeit obliquely – a week earlier. He didn't think that could be it. Was it defying her father that troubled her more than he realized?

Rayna had grown up with every privilege, and she clearly knew what she wanted from life, even at 19. Not only was she deeply committed to her music and her career, Deacon had seen that she could be both temperamental and demanding: Truly a diva in the making.

But she also had a deeply sweet and vulnerable side, one that Deacon felt privileged to see more often than most. A fundamental understanding had grown between the two of them so quickly that he wasn't sure if it was the music that made him love her, or loving her that made him appreciate her music.

Either way, he'd had plenty of girlfriends, but none had meant anything to him compared to Rayna; she had utterly captivated him from the moment he first laid eyes on her.

He kissed the top of her head and then realized she was talking into his shirt. He tilted her chin up; her big green eyes looking up at him melted his heart.

"I don't wanta go back. I wanta stay here with you. I'm just … I'm bein' a baby, that's all. Don't mind me."

He smiled and immediately felt her tremble again.

"You are shiverin', Rayna! It's not summer any more. Come inside an' help me make us some food."

"Okay."

They walked into the cabin arm-in-arm and she looked around while he started unpacking the grocery bags. It was spare, but neat and homey: The clean-swept, wood-slatted floor was nearly covered by a couple of large, oval, braided rugs. A dated kitchen ran along one wall, accompanied by a table and chairs that looked like they had been handcrafted out of knotty pine; on the other side of the large room stood an enormous bed, sagging a bit in the middle, covered in an ancient-looking patchwork quilt, with a pine headboard and matching nightstand and easy chair. Under the big front window was a pot-bellied stove where Deacon had started a couple of logs burning.

"Whatcha think?"

"I've never seen a place quite … like this. But it's cute, really. I like it."

Rayna was smiling now, but somehow he sensed she was still uneasy.

Deacon started pulling out the food he'd purchased that morning. He'd already made a priority of getting the beer into the fridge. He cracked a couple of bottles open now and offered one to her.

"No thanks, not just yet," she said, busy exploring the cabin, picking up knickknacks and books and opening the Bible that was laying on the nightstand.

Deacon tilted the bottle up to his mouth and felt the rush of pleasure as the cold, bitter liquid hit the back of his throat. Another long swallow and the alcohol rushed to his head. It was his first beer of the day, and it tasted damned good. He drained it quickly as he threw together some grilled cheese sandwiches and heated up a can of soup. Then he drank the second beer, too.

"Here we go. Nothin' gourmet, but everythin' tastes pretty good when you're hungry, don't it?"

Deacon carried the food to the table, along with some paper goods he'd thought to include in his shopping. They would not have time to be washing dishes with all the work they needed to accomplish this weekend.

"Tomorrow we'll do some fishin' and have that for supper, if they're bitin'," he said, as Rayna pulled out a chair and sat down.

He watched her as she ate and they made small talk, still marveling at the fact that she was here with him. This woman was way out of his league: Not only was she beautiful, and smart, and rich, she was the most talented artist he'd worked with since he'd arrived in Nashville two years earlier.

The Claybournes were a long line of fiercely proud, independent country folk, mostly musicians and moonshiners - including some whose priorities were not exactly in that order. Deacon had graduated from high school in the small town where most of his family lived and never considered doing anything else with his life but play the guitar.

His restlessness propelled him to the big city at age 20, although he had neither connections nor cash. He'd slept in the bed of his pickup, on a used mattress he bought at a thrift shop, that first summer. He'd also gone on his first bender, drinking late into the night and then blacking out sometime after his favorite bar closed. When he found himself on a friend's couch nearly 48 hours later – with a monster headache and only vague memories of where he'd been or what he'd been doing in the interim – it scared the hell out of him.

He'd resolved to cut back on his drinking after that first time, and he succeeded for a while. But this was the music business, and going out to bars every night was practically required. Not only did it help him make contacts, liquor covered up his natural shyness and gave him confidence. It hadn't taken long before his drinking buddies had started referring him for backup jobs at the recording studios and he'd begun landing gigs as a performer, realizing the dream he had nurtured since childhood.

Then last winter, a friend had asked him to do a favor and fill in at a rehearsal with Rayna's band; after that first day she'd asked him to come back the next day, and then the next.

They'd started writing and performing together, mostly romantic ballads. It had been the most natural thing in the world to take her hand one night at the end of a set and lean over to give her a kiss; he was astonished when she kissed him back, much to the audience's delight.

There had been nothing easy or natural about meeting her family, however. After word got around town that they were a couple, more than one concerned friend had warned him about Lamar Wyatt, a ruthless businessman convinced no mere mortal was good enough for either of his daughters. So when Rayna invited him to the Belle Meade Country Club's spring formal, anxious for him to make a good first impression, Deacon was more than a little anxious.

He put on his best clothes and stopped by the bar to buck up his courage, staying so long that he showed up at the club late. When he walked in and realized that he was fatally underdressed, he went directly to the no-host bar and had another drink. By the time he found his way to the Wyatt table, he was obviously intoxicated - much to Rayna's distress.

As he walked up, he heard Lamar talking loudly to a group of friends, praising Rayna's sister Tandy, who was serious about college and working toward a career helping him manage his business interests. Rayna made the introductions and Deacon shook Lamar's hand and sat down, just in time to hear the older man launch into a litany of complaints about Rayna. His daughter was so busy chasing some ridiculous dream about becoming a country music singer that she wasn't concentrating on school and getting serious about life, as she should be, Lamar said.

Rayna sat there, quietly looking miserable, but didn't say a word. Deacon was surprised: He'd never seen her in a situation where she wasn't eager to speak her mind. He felt his jaw clench in anger, but he remained silent too.

He took Rayna out on the dance floor and they tried to enjoy themselves until dinner was served. But as they ate, Lamar quizzed him on his positions about business and politics, two subjects that Deacon had not thought all that much about. He realized his vague answers were disappointing Lamar, who switched to a new topic, something he framed as, "how the real world works."

"Oh Daddy, don't start up on that again," Rayna said, quickly.

But Lamar was undeterred. As Deacon listened, trying to concentrate through a bit of an alcohol haze, he realized what Rayna's father was actually complaining about: Society today was too quickly discarding the traditional standards that had long governed the social and racial divisions of the Old South.

"Breeding matters, as I've tried to tell my girls. Pedigree, blood lines: If it's good enough for thoroughbreds and hunting dogs, why isn't it good enough for people? Here's what I always say: There are certain people that one should and shouldn't associate with."

Deacon felt his face burning and his jaw clenched again as the implications of this attitude sank in. Tandy was busy talking to someone at the next table, obviously tuning her father out; Rayna just rolled her eyes and concentrated on her plate.

So Lamar turned to Deacon, looking for validation.

"What do you think, young man?"

Deacon looked Lamar straight in the eye and took a deep breath.

"Well sir, first off, I think Rayna's a talented musician who actually has a good chance of achievin' that dream you think is so ridiculous. An' I think y'oughta support what she's doin', whether she's followin' in your footsteps or not. As for the rest of it - huntin' dogs and what not – well, I think that's jus' a load o' horseshit, right there. And I think I heard enough of it for one night."

And he'd simply stood up and walked out.

Rayna sat at the table, shocked, long enough to hear Lamar launch into a tirade. Then she'd gotten up and run to the parking lot, where she found Deacon leaning against his truck.

"Deacon – why did you have to go and say somethin' like that!? I wanted Daddy to like you!"

Deacon laughed bitterly, a sound so cynical it made Rayna's blood run cold.

"_Rayna_ … I could've sat there and kissed his ass all night and he wouldn't ever like me. Don't you get it? Don't you understand what he's sayin' with all that about … breedin' …. and how certain people ain't … human?"

"Deacon, he didn't say that!"

"Well, then what _did_ he say, Rayna? What else did he mean? I'm sorry, I know he's your daddy … but he's a jackass."

And that had been the beginning and the end of Deacon's relationship with Lamar Wyatt. He knew that if Rayna chose him over her father, there would be hell to pay with the old man, and he warned her as much. But Rayna had a mind of her own, and a stubborn streak to match Deacon's.

And she was not ready to give him up - neither personally nor professionally. So they continued seeing each other, in secret.

Deacon watched her as she tossed their plates and cleared the table. It must be that deceiving her father had put more of a strain on her than he'd realized, he concluded again.

"Oooh! Look at that."

Rayna stopped and stared out the back porch window. The late-summer sun was just settling down over the woods, turning the sky deep red and burnt orange, and lighting up the clouds cotton-candy pink.

"Yeah, we get some real pretty sunsets up here."

"Let's go out and watch. Can we?"

"Sure."

They walked outside and sat side-by-side, their legs dangling off the edge of the porch, looking on as the trees began glowing red and gold. Eventually, the whole forest laid out at their feet seemed alight with fire. The sky behind them grew dark, in stunning contrast, and the first stars of the night began to blink out.

Long minutes passed quietly until the last sliver of light slid down over the western horizon and the clouds faded to gray.

"That is gorgeous," Rayna whispered, finally breaking the silence.

"It sure is."

She turned and saw Deacon gazing - not at the sky, but at her.

She smiled and looked down, suddenly bashful.

"Well, should we go in and take a look at a couple of those songs now?"

She hesitated, looking away into the distance again.

"Deacon…?"

"Yeah?"

"I … I don't want you to … sleep in the hammock tonight."

"Oh."

"It's just … well…"

Deacon could see she was struggling with something but he could not see her face, which was covered in shadow. He scooted closer to her, taking her hand in his and addressing her softly.

"What is it, darlin'? You can talk to me."

"Well, it's just that I … I mean, I've had boyfriends and everything, but … well I never, I mean _we really never_ … took things all that far, I guess…."

She turned and looked at him, confused, searching his eyes for understanding and something else … acceptance.

_Sweet Jesus. _

Finally, Deacon understood: How could he have been so blind? He guessed it simply had not occurred to him that a girl as pretty and popular as Rayna might still be a virgin.

_"Rayna…" _

He took her hand, his heart filled with tenderness for her. Rayna never took her eyes off his.

"I'm glad you told me," he said, bringing her palm up to his lips and kissing it. "But you're … sure? I mean, I was serious before when I said I didn't want to pressure …"

Rayna put two fingers to his mouth then, silencing him, and nodded slowly.

"Okay..."

He stood up then and disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniel's.

"What's that for?"

"Trust me, Rayna, this stuff makes everythin' easier."

He poured out two neat shots and handed her one.

"What should we drink to?"

Rayna looked around and took a deep breath.

"To this place; to right now. To the cabin."

He smiled, and touched his glass to hers.

"To the cabin."


	4. Chapter 4

Deacon tossed back the whiskey shot with a neat flip of his wrist.

Rayna sipped more cautiously, her eyes watering as the harsh liquid burned its way down her throat, seeming to evaporate from her tongue straight into her brain. She choked and coughed a little, feeling her insides glowing like the fiery forest at sunset. She inhaled deeply, then took another sip and grimaced.

She turned to find him watching her, amused.

"Shut up. I jus' haven't … developed a taste for it … yet."

"That's not such a bad thing, Ray, b'lieve me."

"So …."

"Yeah?"

"I guess this is … not … your first time?"

He chuckled a little, softly.

"Uhhhhhhh …. no."

"Who was she?"

"What, you mean …? Hmmmm … her name was Amy. She was real pretty. Looked a little bit like you, in fact."

"I hate her."

He laughed, pouring himself another shot and pounding it before turning to her and nodding.

"Yup, you probably woulda' hated her, all right."

"How old were you?"

"Ummm … 15, 16, maybe? High school, y'know."

They sat together in silence for a moment. Darkness fell quickly in the country and it was closing in on them now, though the hard-working stove inside the cabin cast a flickering, orange glow across the porch. Rayna tilted her head back and swallowed the rest of her whiskey, marveling at how many stars crowded the sky - and at how much easier the liquor went down as the glass got lighter.

She blinked, realizing that her vision was a little blurry; her hair was hanging long down her back and she was swaying ever so slightly. Deacon reached over and took the glass out of her hand, setting it aside.

She looked at him, wide-eyed and serious, as he slid his right hand down her thigh and simultaneously insinuated his left hand under the lightweight silkiness of her blouse, running his heavily calloused fingers up over the skin of her bare back to her neck, where he began massaging gently.

Rayna took a deep breath, her heartbeat quickening. She had a disconnected feeling that was not altogether unpleasant: One part of her was sitting here next to him, staring into his eyes as he caressed her. And another Rayna was somewhere far away, out in the stars, watching curiously as this moment between them unfolded in slow motion.

After what seemed like forever, the intensity of his gaze overwhelmed her and Rayna dropped her head, closing her eyes and letting every ounce of tension drain out of her, like a sigh. She felt herself go limp and realized that she was moaning softly under his ministrations.

_Is this actually happening … are we really going to…? _

Rayna turned back toward him and looked him full in the face, staring into his eyes for a long moment. Then she leaned in and kissed him, pressing her mouth against his once, twice, three times. The instant their lips met, a shock wave – like a jolt of electricity – passed through both of them. And she was immediately lost, transported to some dark universe where nothing existed, apart from their bodies and a wellspring of long-suppressed desire.

Their kisses bled together, again and again, until they were no longer distinct, but one, long kiss. Rayna was not watching from the sidelines now, but fully and gloriously in this moment, the taste of him and the smell of his skin enveloping her, her fingers raking through his hair, his arms around her, both hands under her blouse now, fingers roaming over her back.

Deacon swiftly slipped the thin garment over her head and tossed it aside, pushing her down beneath him onto the wooden porch slats, positioning himself over her with his legs twined through hers. His hands traveled to her face and stroked her cheeks and hair as he kissed her, overwhelmed by a full onslaught of the passion he had managed to keep in check since they first met.

She clutched him to her body, her hands moving down over his back and settling on his ass, urging him to come closer.

He was more than halfway to a decent buzz by now, and it occurred to him that he could yank down those black leggings and take her right there, on the porch in the darkness, and she would let him do it. Encourage him, even.

The notion was powerfully sexy; Deacon had been patient with her for ages and he appreciated a quick-and-dirty fuck as much as the next guy.

But he was still sober enough to know that that was not what he wanted for her; not tonight. This was Rayna's party, as far as he was concerned, and he was determined that she would never regret inviting him.

So he pulled himself back and stood up, reaching down for her hands and hauling her up to stand before him. Her hair was wild, her mouth red, the freckled skin of her bare neck and shoulders glowing white against her black bra and the dark sky.

She looked up at him with a face so open and vulnerable, eyes shining with such love and trust, that for a moment he was terrified: Of his weaknesses, of his inability to do anything but make music, of the possibility that he would disappoint her.

_How would he ever prove himself worthy of this woman?_

She reached her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him again, but he held her back for a moment.

"Ray," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, "I love you. And I am never gonna hurt you, not ever. I promise you that."

"I know. I love you, too, Deacon, so much."

She realized that she'd never said anything truer in all her life.

Rayna did not know exactly what would happen next: Not in the next hour or the next day or the next year or for the rest of their lives. But she knew that she was in Deacon's arms, and that was exactly where she belonged. And she knew she wanted to stay there always...

"Rayna? Rayna!"

Bucky's hand was on her shoulder, shaking her.

"Rayna, buckle up now. We're gettin' ready to land."

The voice close beside her ear jolted Rayna out of her reverie, landing her back in the present with what felt like a physical blow. She looked around, totally disoriented, as the interior of Juliette's plane came back into focus.

She turned and saw Bucky gazing at her, concerned.

She shook her head, as if to clear out the cobwebs, and took a deep breath.

"Wow, I'm sorry. Y'know … I don't know …"

"Where you been, Rayna? Looked like you were way out there somewhere, starin' out that window. I don't think you said a word the entire flight."

"I was jus' … thinkin', I guess."

She looked around again, taking in the back of Juliette's head and the sight of Deacon, eyes closed, ear buds in, feet tapping. Going over Juliette's set, no doubt, making sure he knew the music for tonight.

Rayna checked her phone, unsurprised to find a message from Teddy: "Call me. We need to talk." She sighed, noticing the time, hardly believing she'd been lost in thought for so long. At least zoning out meant she hadn't been tempted to watch Deacon and Juliette the whole flight - though Rayna was willing to bet that Juliette had been watching her, hoping for some reaction.

She determined not to give her any satisfaction on that front.

_That little girl is about as mature as the kids in Maddie's class... no - Daphne's. _

Rayna looked at Deacon again, lost in his music, a familiar sight. It was going to be strange, she thought with a twist in her gut, watching him up on stage with Juliette tonight.

As if he felt her gaze on him, Deacon opened his eyes and looked at her for a long moment. Then he turned away.

_God, what we meant to each other back then... how in hell's name did we lose track of it?_

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Bucky asked, startled by the look of naked anguish on Rayna's face.

Rayna looked down.

"Oh, y'know … the old days, I guess. Been thinkin' about 'em a lot lately, t' be honest with ya."

She smiled then, slightly embarrassed.

"Y'know … you an' the guys were right. Deacon an' I never did manage t' do any writin' at that cabin, much as we always started out with good intentions."

He smiled, sadly.

"Y'all loved each other a lot, Rayna. Ever'body could see that."

"Yep. We sure did."

"An' you were great together. While things were … good."

Rayna raised her eyebrows and sighed, nodding.

"Yeah, while things were good. I jus' wish they woulda been good more often, y'know?"

In the end, she mused, it hadn't mattered that the writing had been forgotten while they'd spent all weekend in that big bed. And in the hammock. And in the tall grass by the pond...

They'd pulled a couple of all-nighters in the studio when they got back and aced the audition, landing twin recording contracts that very day.

And in the long run, what had happened between them on that weekend proved far more significant: It forged a deep devotion that under girded one of the storied artistic partnerships of the '90s, and ignited a passion that would fuel one of country music's legendary, stormy, all-too-public love affairs.

That bond carried Rayna through more than a decade of disappointment, lies and heartbreak. It sent Deacon back to clinics and meetings and treatment centers, year after year, until long after she was the only one who refused to give up on him. In time, he would break his promise to her so many times she would lose count; and she would decide that her future belonged to someone else.

And yet here they were, 20 years gone, their hearts still tangled up so deep neither one could imagine truly breaking away.

The cabin steward moved through the passenger compartment one more time, collecting empty Diet Coke cans and snack wrappers, making sure everyone's seat belts were fastened.

The plane dropped down out of the sky and Rayna thought about another reason that cabin was so special: A reason Deacon did not know about, and never could.

On their last visit there, on that final, goddamnit-let's-give-it-one-more-try weekend, when Rayna was so sick of hearing about co-dependency, and enabling, and recovery, that she could scream, when they had driven up to the cabin determined to find themselves again, it became the site of their greatest collaboration ever: Her daughter – _their daughter_ – had been conceived.

The End


End file.
